


Lay Me Down

by CallToMuster



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Jewish Phil Coulson, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5729833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallToMuster/pseuds/CallToMuster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton stood in the front of the synagogue, staring at the casket that held his husband’s wrecked and ravaged body. He could feel his heartbeat in his chest, pumping steadily along. He hated it.</p><p>{A song-fic to Sam Smith's "Lay Me Down" about Clint Barton dealing with Phil's death after the Avengers.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic does not have a happy ending. There is a major character death and a reference to someone considering ending their life. Please stay away if you feel this might trigger anything. Thank you.
> 
> I HIGHLY RECOMMEND that you listen to Lay Me Down by Sam Smith while reading this to get the full experience!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own and am not affiliated with Disney or Marvel Studios. These characters are not my intellectual property. There will be no financial gain from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

_Yes, I do, I believe_

_That one day I will be_

_Where I was right there_

_Right next to you_

_  
_

     Clint Barton stood in the front of the synagogue, staring at the casket that held his husband’s wrecked and ravaged body. He could feel his heartbeat in his chest, pumping steadily along. He hated it. Phil’s stopped beating after a deranged Norse deity (that bastard didn’t even deserve a name after all that he’d done to them) and Clint wished that his had as well. It felt like it, when Natasha told him.

~~~

     Clint was exhausted and full, the weight of shawarma in his stomach only adding to his tiredness. Nevertheless, when SHIELD transport came to get the six of them he dragged himself up with Natasha’s help and started towards the door. Slowly, he might add. Did he mention he was exhausted?

     “Clint,” Natasha said quietly. He turned around. Natasha was standing there, shifting her weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. In any other situation this would have immediately set his alarm bells off. Clint had seen Natasha look steady in some frankly embarrassing and compromising situations (no, not like that), but Clint was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open, let alone get his brain functioning properly.

     Natasha took a deep breath, “There’s something you should know.” Clint scrunched up his face, a mixture of _what is it, woman?_ and _i’m so sleep deprived that everything is confusing right now_.

     “Hmmmrgh?” Natasha licked her lips quickly. She took another deep breath and drew herself up like she was marching into battle.

     “Phil. He’s dead.”

   


      _And it’s hard_

_The days just seem so dark_

_The moon and the stars_

_Are nothing without you_

   


      That was Natasha as he knew her, blunt and brutally honest. Clint blinked. The words registered with him. He blinked again. There was a wetness between his eyelashes. If it were anyone else, Clint would’ve protested, asked for clarification, wouldn’t have believed them. It was Phil, badass SHIELD agent extraordinaire, who ate junior agents and gas station donuts for breakfast. He couldn’t die. The universe simply didn’t work that way. But this wasn’t anyone else, this was Natasha, who had never lied to him. Clint blinked for a third time, and became hyperaware of everything around him. Natasha was watching him carefully, like he might break if touched in that moment. The rest of the Avengers were waiting frozen at the door. Clint could see Tony’s throat contract as he swallowed and watched his eyelids close and reopen as he looked down. 

     “Was it me?” Clint’s gaze locked on Natasha.

     “No. No, Clint.” She answers softly, delicately, because he is fragile now and she knows it. Clint nods, like that makes it all better, but it doesn’t. 

     “Who?” Natasha’s eyes are kind, and it makes it worse. 

     “Loki.” There’s a burning in Clint’s throat now, hot and thick. Tears prick at his eyes and he clumsily brings up a hand to wipe them away. He reaches to his neck to find the small silver cord there and follows it down until his fingers find the metal band there, warmed by the heat of his skin. It was simple, as wedding rings go, but it was Clint’s and it was Phil’s and that was all that mattered. Clint knew Phil sometimes took it off his neck and just wore the ring on his finger, but Clint couldn’t risk it with a bow. Still, those rings symbolized their marriage, and by proxy, Phil. Clint wasn’t going to let go off this small piece of Phil now, not when he wasn’t sure what else he would ever get. 

  


      _Your touch, your skin_

_Where do I begin?_

_No words can explain_

_The way I’m missing you_

_  
_

Fury gives him “Phil Coulson’s personal effects,” as SHIELD calls them. Only SHIELD can make “the things we found on his body when he died” seem so impersonal and detached. So Clint gets Phil’s wallet, his phone, his earpiece, his trading cards, his wedding ring. He stares bleakly at them in his hand, wondering vaguely if Phil ever got the chance to meet Captain America. He hopes so. 

     Later, Tony invites him to his tower to stay for a few nights. Well, really Tony says, “As long as you want,” but Clint doesn’t want to overstay. And honestly, he’s glad for the offer. He didn’t know if he could deal with seeing the wreckage on the Helicarrier that he caused it’s all his fault. And the mere thought of returning the apartment he and Phil lived in made something ugly crawl under his skin. That’s how Clint ends up bolting awake at 8:17 the next morning, surroundings unrecognizable and heart pounding because of it. He glances around and spots his bow and quiver next to his bed, in a heap on the floor. The memories come back to him suddenly - Loki, the fight, the news - and Clint feels the urge to throw up. He manages to make it to the bathroom before he does. 

  


      _Deny this emptiness_

_This hole that I’m inside_

_These tears_

_They tell their own story_  


_  
_

     Going back to the apartment feels like walking on glass. Phil’s Captain America mug is half-empty on the counter from when he must have left it going to meet Fury at Project PEGASUS. Clint pours the coffee into the sink, but it’s been sitting there too long - the mug is stained now. He carefully doesn’t think about that being a metaphor for his life. Instead he concentrates on getting the things he knows he’ll need at the Tower where he’s decided to stay. There isn’t much that Clint wants - a couple books, his toothbrush, the weapons he knows they keep stashed around the apartment, some clothes. The latter turns out to be a bad idea when he opens the closet to see rows of Phil’s suits hanging, still pressed if a bit dusty. 

     “Natasha, will you stop by the apartment later and grab me some clothes? I… I can’t.” Clint clears his throat and tips his head back to stop the prick of tears. 

     “Of course, птица.” She answers immediately, her nickname for him (“bird” in Russian) sounding unusually tender in her normally uncompromising tone. Strike Team Delta spoke Russian occasionally. And Phil, as their handler, did as well. It came in handy. Clint headed back to the Tower with a heavy heart and a clouded mind. 

  


      _Told me not to cry_

_When you were gone_

_But the feeling’s overwhelming_

_It’s much too strong_

  


     ~~~ 

  


     “Clint,” Phil’s voice, usually steady, sounded wavery and unsure. That alone gave Clint pause. Phil’s voice rarely turned into that even in firefights or interrogations. So with trepidation and a little bit of fear, Clint turned towards his husband. 

     “Yeah?” Phil took a deep breath. 

     “We need to talk.” Phil said, and Clint’s mind immediately rushed to the worst. “No, not like that. Never like that.” 

     “Of course not, with my great looks and fabulous arms-” Clint let out a shaky smile and a cocky sentence to hide his insecurities. Phil rolled his eyes and cut him off. 

     “Sure. Anyway, what I wanted to talk about was… Funeral rites and that sort. If one of us doesn’t make it.” He looks at Clint seriously, who immediately shakes his head. 

     “Phil, neither of us are gonna die anytime soon.” _It wasn’t going to happen._

     “Clint.” Phil gave him The Look. _Clint, shut up, you’re being a dumbass. Clint, you know you’re wrong. Clint, I still love you._ The Look said many things at the same time.

     “We need to talk about these things, get our legal affairs in order. We’ve been married for almost two years already, this should’ve been done a while ago.” Clint sighed. 

     “I know, Phil. I just… Don’t really want to think about it.” Phil’s eyes softened. “It’s just precautionary. I don’t plan on leaving any time soon.” 

     And so they worked it out. Clint wanted a non-religious ceremony that focused on the good times he’d had in his life. Phil wanted a Jewish funeral. He had a family plot, and Clint would be placed there too when he died.

     ~~~

  


      _Can I lay by your side?_

_Next to you, you_

_And make sure you’re alright_

_I’ll take care of you_

_I don’t want to be here if I can’t be with you tonight_

     Clint is there at the synagogue, thinking about it. For a moment, Clint considers doing something that would make him be buried there next to Phil quickly. But he doesn’t consider it too seriously. Because the two had made a promise to each other about that, that they wouldn’t. 

     And so Clint didn’t. But he couldn’t swear that in that moment, that he didn’t wish he did. 

     However, Clint Barton wasn’t one to go back on his promises. 

     So he took a deep breath. 

     Composed himself. 

     And lived. 

  


_Lay me down tonight_

_Lay me by your side_

_Lay me down tonight_

_Lay me by your side_

_Can I lay by your side?_

_Next to you_

_You_  


**Author's Note:**

> I had some issues with formatting, apologies.
> 
> I'd love to hear feedback, good or bad! Thanks for making it to the end!


End file.
